


I don't wanna mess this up, could it be too much to say I'm in—

by Toomanyfandoms99



Series: Supernatural Season 15 Codas [17]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Coda, Episode: s15e15 Gimme Shelter, Leviathans, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Revelations, Secrets, The Empty (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:28:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27052666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toomanyfandoms99/pseuds/Toomanyfandoms99
Summary: After the silence, the stretching shocked silence, Dean drops his fist against the wooden tabletop.  The rap of his knuckles is endlessly loud, though it is an uncharacteristically light action.The anger turns to defeat.  Dean casts his head down, blinking rapidly.Is he crying?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Supernatural Season 15 Codas [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517966
Comments: 5
Kudos: 71





	I don't wanna mess this up, could it be too much to say I'm in—

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: nothing but angst and tragedy.
> 
> The title was taken from “Not Another Love Song” by Ella Mai.

They are quiet for a long time after Castiel tells them about the deal. Jack is someone to lean on in this situation, despite Castiel wanting to break down in tears when they were in his car and Jack admitted he would die fighting against Chuck and Amara. In this room, in the war room at the bunker, Jack’s knowledgeable eyes at already being familiar with the deal is a comfort.

They still have a lot to talk about, the two of them, but it could wait.

The faces of the Winchesters as they absorb Castiel’s secret, that he sold his soul to save Jack’s and Billie would take him to the Empty, break his heart. Just as Castiel knew it would.

Sam analyzes the words. No surprise there. He analyzes with his big blue eyes filled with concern, but he is silent. Ever the bookish one. Calculating for possible loopholes that would get Castiel out of this predicament, how he could live through Chuck’s grand plan to destroy the fabric of the universe itself.

It makes Castiel want to cry. There is no way out. He knows it. Sam refuses to believe it, so he searches, thinks with flitting eyes about what they could do to save him.

But Dean is worse. Dean is shaking. His hands are quaking against his sides. His lip juts out in a wobble. His green eyes are angry. So angry. So tired and tragic and sad. 

Mostly angry, though.

After the silence, the stretching shocked silence, Dean drops his fist against the wooden tabletop. The rap of his knuckles is endlessly loud, though it is an uncharacteristically light action. 

The anger turns to defeat. Dean casts his head down, blinking rapidly.

Is he crying? 

Dean slackens his shoulders, leaning against the edge of the table as if it were the only thing holding up his body. He sniffles.

He’s crying. Dean is crying for him.

Dean inhales, bringing his head up with him. He faces Castiel with glistening eyes.

“I thought we could have this,” Dean sighs, “you know?” He looks at Sam, who glances worriedly at his older brother. “I thought we could,” Dean’s voice is wet as he returns his gaze to Castiel, “I thought we could all have our happy ending. You know?”

Jack sends Castiel a look. They hadn’t even told Dean and Sam about Jack’s impending doom. If they were reacting so viscerally about Castiel dying, he doesn’t think Dean and Sam should know about Jack. Not yet anyway. 

So Castiel lingers on Jack for a beat before sliding back to Dean’s broken expression. Jack understands what Castiel is communicating: be quiet about it.

Dean arches forward, taking a step away from the table he was using as a crutch. His gaze solidifies and hardens when he reaches Castiel. “This isn’t the end. I refuse to believe this is the end for us. For you.”

Castiel blinks down; Dean is now doing the same thing as Sam. Thinking about how they could defy the odds just one more time so that Castiel could escape Death herself. And that they could do it together.

What is Dean implying, anyway? ‘For us?’

Like always, it is probably nothing. Just Castiel’s overactive imagination running away from him.

“Sammy,” Dean scowls at his little brother, “if there’s a solution in this bunker, we need to start looking right now.”

“Stop,” Castiel says.

Sam pauses from turning on his heel. Dean stills.

“What?” Dean blinks. “Do you not want to be saved?”

A lump forms in Castiel’s throat. The memory of him asking Dean that very question when they first met crashes into his mind. It sticks, refusing to let go.

Dean’s fiery eyes from over a decade ago superimpose onto Dean’s current fury, his determination and quick-tempered drive to pull off one last miracle. Castiel’s stomach roils at the sight.

“No,” Castiel answers truthfully, “not if it keeps you alive.”

Dean bites his tongue. Castiel recognizes he is holding himself back from doing something. Whether that something is stupid or foolish, Castiel can take his pick.

But then, to Castiel’s surprise, he deflates. Dean deflates as if Castiel grasped the box labeled Dean’s Fire and threw it in a lake, extinguishing the urge forever.

Dean hangs his head low, thinking and thinking behind those eyes that Castiel could usually read for notes of expressiveness but were as treacherous as climbing a cliff barehanded.

He seems to decide something, a course of action. His eyes blaze when he advances once again towards Castiel.

Castiel loses his breath when Dean reaches for his hands and holds them in his own. They are warm.

“No,” Dean implores, “you’re not doing this to me. Not again. Never again.”

Sam inhales and Jack shifts somewhere off to the side, but Castiel cannot register anything above a dull thud in his ribcage. A dying thump of a heartbeat. It is Castiel’s own heartbeat, slow and made of ash that cannot be healed by any being of celestial light, no matter how powerful.

“I’m not doing this without you,” Dean enunciates, his message never so clear as it is when there is hardly any space between them.

Dean’s fingers find their way between Castiel’s and lace together, emphasizing that, to him, ‘this’ really means ‘life, staying alive.’ The obstruction in Castiel’s throat lingers.

He’s too late. So late. Tragically late. Why now? Why did Dean have to do this at the worst possible time?

Castiel swallows thickly, struggling to speak without breaking down into tears. His deep voice wavers. “I’m already dying.”

He keeps it impersonal to distance himself from Dean’s answering dewy eyes. Even then, it is not enough.

Castiel’s tone scratches, “I’ve been dying for years,” Dean breathes shallowly at the information, “ever since the Leviathan.”

Dean’s entire face changes into a gut-wrenching realization. He falls to pieces, crumbles right before Castiel. It is Castiel’s worst fears come to life before him, but for a reason that was not previously prophesied. A question parts Dean’s lips, but he ultimately remains quiet.

“Let me do this for you,” Castiel says delicately, dropping Dean’s hands, receiving a hurt look, “and don’t do this to me. Don’t tell me.”

Castiel backpedals, but remains within Dean’s reach; he is weak that way.

Dean cannot help himself, though. “But I-”

“I know,” Castiel shuts down, hardening his expression for his own safety as well as Dean’s, “now do you want me to be able to help you? Or do you want me to run away to prevent being taken early?”

It hits Dean, the circumstances that Castiel has lived with for years. He exhales deeply so that his prickling wet eyes do not betray him.

Dean bobs his head, turning away from Castiel. He faces Sam and Jack as he says, “we need to focus our energy on finding Chuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
